


So Darkly Devoted, I Have Become

by TheCatLady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Delusion, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Masochism, Other characters and tags to be added in future, Possessive Behaviour, Power Dynamics, Sadism, Self Harm, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCatLady/pseuds/TheCatLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ramsay is a Targaryen bastard in King's Landing, and Melisandre believes him to be Azor Ahai reborn and schemes to put him on the Iron Throne or die trying, knowing he may be humanity's only hope against the coming storm. Ramsay, however, is less interested in the fate of the world and more intent on finding his way under her skirt. Cracky AU, obviously. Drabble chapters. [Discontinued.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This was actually inspired by another author's drabble, where they paired Ramsay and Melisandre together. I found the ship so interesting, I decided I wanted to write something of my own. I'm not even certain where this idea came from, but I thought of it and knew I had to write it. Title is from the song “Hunted”, by the band Device. Not sure how often I'll get to update this since life takes priority, but since they're drabble chapters it shouldn't take me too long to churn the story out. :)

When Ramsay first laid eyes on the Red Woman, he'd been ten-and-four, and had been fighting with his brother again. Viserys had had the nerve to call him “bastard” to his face – something their mother never allowed and would punish Viserys for doing so if she heard it – and as usual, it had resulted in a fist fight that led Daenerys to run for help from the King's Guard. The boys had been split up, and while Viserys was being chastised by Rhaegar and Jon Connington, King and Hand respectively, Ramsay had snuck off to the gardens to sullenly squash bugs he found with rocks, wishing his father would take him hunting instead.

Shooting things with crossbows never failed to make him feel better.

She came seemingly out of nowhere – a blur of red in the corner of his eye, so startling he'd thought he'd imagined her at first – but sure enough, there she stood before him, her ruby-coloured eyes staring down at him with a thoughtful expression on her beautiful face. She took his breath away, and made his cock twitch, just with a look.

He found himself staring at her ample cleavage and swallowing a lump in his throat when she introduced herself. Whether she was aware of his lurid looking, he did not know, for she gave no indication of it.

“My Prince,” she said in a husky voice as foreign and silky as she was. “I am Lady Melisandre, from Asshai. I'll be serving on your brother's small council as an advisor. I saw you playing just now, and thought to come and introduce myself.”

Ramsay found himself embarrassed that she'd found him doing something so childish, wishing for the umpteenth time he'd been hunting instead. He imagined how impressed she would be if he brought her back a wolf pelt or a boar to eat instead, and found himself even angrier than he was after his fight with Viserys.

“Does something trouble you, my prince?” asked Melisandre, brows furrowing ever so slightly. “Why are you out here alone?”

Ramsay clenched his jaw, refraining from complaining. “Nothing ails me, fair lady,” he gave her his most winning smile, one he usually saved for his mother and serving wenches. “I came outside for some fresh air. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The corners of her red mouth picked up, and Ramsay couldn't tell if she was suppressing a smile or faking one. It irritated him. He wanted to see her smile at him, those red eyes burning with desire for him. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his whole life, and suddenly, he was worried about everybody else seeing her. What if somebody else thought her just as beautiful as he, and tried to marry her, and steal her away from him?

A darkness settled over him; a calm, subdued rage. Ramsay knew the answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon becomes betrothed and Ramsay gets a new friend.

The day Aegon became betrothed, he was ten-and-two, and his little wife had come to King's Landing from a boring place called Highgarden. She was of an age with him, with soft brown hair, soft brown eyes, soft pale skin, soft, soft, soft.

Naturally, the presentation required Ramsay's presence, and as a youth of six-and-ten, was loathe to part with his riding leathers and breeches in exchange for red and black velvet. He stood in front of all those people gathered in the throne room, beside his father who was the very picture of cold, detached grace, and pictured all those people with their skin flayed, screaming in agony as they begged him for mercy.

It made the smile come a little more naturally when the applause started, at least.  
After the ceremony was finished and everyone in the court began to disperse, Ramsay turned swiftly to leave, when suddenly he felt his father's hand clamp down hard on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“Your new sister is not the only one I wanted you to meet,” he said quietly, and beckoned for someone to approach them.

Ramsay looked at the man who walked up to them in disgust. He was thin as a rake, gaunt and pale as a sheet. He wore flowers in his thin, brittle hair, and stunk repulsively. Ramsay sneered at him openly, wondering if this was some kind of jest of Viserys'. He would've believed that wholly too, had it not been his father who was doing the introduction.

“Ramsay, this is Reek,” said Roose. “I understand that with your cousin Aegon now betrothed and your brother Viserys leaving for Dragonstone in a few short days, you may lack for... suitable company. Reek is hereby your manservant and will serve you well, just as he served me for many years at the Dreadfort.”

Once Roose left, Ramsay was alone in the throne room with the repugnant creature. He regarded Reek with his cold, icy eyes before shrugging. “You hunt?”

“If my prince commands,” Reek grinned ghoulishly, bowing low. 

“Bow?”

The skinny man paused, considering. “All manner of weapons and... methods, my prince.”

“Really?” Ramsay was intrigued. “You'll have to tell me of these... hunting methods of yours. I shall meet you by the stable in an hour. Don't be late.” He let his warning hang in the air as he removed himself from the room, leaving Reek all alone with the Iron Throne, which he stared at lustily. 

“I wouldn't consider it, Heke,” came a voice from one of the pillars. “The throne tends to... harshly reject any who attempts to sit upon it who does not belong there. And your blood is better off where it is, if your stench is anything to go by.”

Reek's eyes narrowed at the red woman whose presence had escaped his notice. He was not accustomed to being snuck up on. “As my lady commands. What is it you called me?”

“Heke,” Melisandre repeated, her eyes shining with a knowing glint. “Oh, I know who you are, my friend. And I know of the role you play in Prince Ramsay's life.” Her expression was decidedly neutral, as best Reek could tell. “Tread carefully. That is all the warning you shall have.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

Melisandre of Asshai proved to be both very popular and unpopular at court in the years to follow. Many women regarded her with fierce jealousy and contempt, but Ramsay's mother, the former queen Rhaella, trusted her. Roose was indifferent to her, and he seemed to be the only man. Even the ever-gallant King Rhaegar found it difficult to keep his gaze from wandering to Melisandre, much to Queen Elia's disdain.

And yet, Ramsay never saw Melisandre show any favour towards the men at court, frequently turning down marriage proposals and brushing off declarations of love like she was swatting away an irritating fly. She never seemed to age, either. Ten years flew by, and they saw much happen. Another rebellion rose from Stannis Baratheon, the deceased attempted-usurper Robert Baratheon's younger brother, and their house was subsequently decimated and declared extinct. Stannis had been allowed to live as a display of clemency, Melisandre had told him, and he had spurned Rhaegar's mercy for the sake of his pride. He deserved his fate for raising arms against the royal family. Hearing the intensity with which she spoke made Ramsay's heart pound painfully. 

Viserys married Arianne Martell, and the two of them lived on Dragonstone with their silver-haired, dusky-skinned brood. Both Rhaenys and Daenerys had gone North, one year after the other, to their respective betrothals. Every so often he would receive an update on one of them – Daenerys birthing a litter of pups or Rhaenys a squid – but Ramsay didn't care beyond a malicious laugh at their expense.

When the topic of marriage was breached upon with Ramsay, he bristled at the suggestion, meeting Rhaegar's gaze evenly. Icy blue eyes fought for dominance with dark indigo, and Rhaegar had sighed, relenting for the time being. His years as king had weighed heavy upon him, and he looked ten years older than his true age. The desire to fight matters he knew would prove tough had all but waned into nothing, and thus Ramsay remained free to do as he pleased.

“You have no interest in the women at court, my prince?” Melisandre had asked him later as they strolled through the gardens together. Dark clouds loomed overhead, and fierce winds blew, threatening a storm, but Ramsay didn't notice.

“Only one,” he'd said seriously, and plucked a red rose from the garden to give to her.

Melisandre regarded the token of affection expressionlessly. Ramsay's heart leaped into his throat when she leaned down to smell the flower. She looked up at him with her large ruby eyes, her nose buried in the petals, and Ramsay bit back a moan, trying to imagine what she would look like on silk sheets covered in blood. Would her back arch and her fingers claw his scalp with his head buried between her legs? He liked to imagine it would.

And then the moment was gone, and she was standing straight once more. Melisandre touched his cheek with her fingertips – feather-light and brief – before she brushed past him without a word, walking away from him.

Ramsay crushed the rose in his hand, ignoring the sharp stabbing of the thorns in his palm as it bloodied.


End file.
